When We Need
by thechinskyguy
Summary: Proton finds himself having second thoughts over Lance's invite to dinner that night. But, a glass of wine or two introduces the two in a more honest environment than Proton's office. Oneshot, follow-up to This Thing We Keep.


Proton stood unevenly at the bathroom sink, letting the lukewarm tap water flow through his fingers. The plug in the sink meant it was nearly overflowing, not that he noticed. The water spilled in droplets from his fingers onto the marble countertop. He splashed it against his face before looking himself in the eyes in the mirror.

_I'm so screwed._

He breathed deeply, letting the oxygen collect in his throat. Everything that happened earlier - having Lance trapped in his office, the way he escaped, his demand to meet at the Alistair Cafe tonight - froze in his mind. What were the champion's exact words again? _"I'll teach you how to actually take someone on a date."_

"You wanted this," he muttered to himself, turning the water off. "You have no right to be this terrified."

But that wouldn't stop him from growing the world's largest pit in his stomach.

He looked at his watch. 7:10 PM. Fifty minutes until he was supposed to be at the Alistair, to meet—

"Proton!"

A sharp voice from just behind the bathroom door. He couldn't answer before the wooden panel was kicked open, a firm white boot hovering where the doorknob once held firm.

Proton sighed. "Ariana, I—"

"You're going on a date with _him?"_

Her face twisted in anger, turning redder than her hair. Proton backed away further into the bathroom, fearing that he'd be the next thing to be violently kicked.

"That's, uh, a vast oversimplification of what happened, but yes. I'm meeting with Lance tonight near Viridian."

Ariana huffed in exasperation, stiffening her posture. "Tell me if I heard this correctly. You finally managed to capture Lance Luxforde, one of our highest-priority targets, had him personally _in your office_...and he not only got away, but you're going on a _date _with him? Like, a wine-and-steak date?"

Proton blinked. "Yes."

"You are inconceivably hopeless," she snarled. "I have every right to interfere and make sure Team Rocket can still—"

"You'll do no such thing!" Proton snapped. He pushed past Ariana out of the bathroom, knowing full well she would follow behind. "This is my business and no one else's!"

"This started as a Team Rocket operation, and it needs to end that way!" Ariana caught up with Proton, their footsteps echoing down the empty hallway of the Rocket base. The grunts wouldn't be here this late on a Saturday, meaning they had the entire base pretty much to themselves to argue.

Proton turned in an about-face to stop her in her tracks. "You'll leave this to me. Do _not _get involved," he hissed. "There's...no need for your assistance."

Ariana stared daggers at him. "You'd be better off remembering where your allegiance lies. You—" her voice lowered as if someone would overhear, "You know how valuable Lance would be to us, if we could just get him back here. The information he might have…"

"Yeah. I know." Proton turned to walk away again, the bead of sweat forming on his brow going unseen by Ariana. "I'll...take care of him."

She said nothing in return, watching Proton storm out of sight in an unresolved silence.

* * *

Proton cupped Golbat's pokeball, feeling the metal weight in his gloved hand as he stepped out of the Rocket base. July wasn't known for the coolest of summer evenings, but despite that he felt a chill running down his body. From terror, or anxiety, he didn't know.

Around him, the rugged terrain of the Tohjo Falls glistened from a recent drizzle. He sneered as he sat on a nearby rock, releasing Golbat from his pokeball, staring blankly at the beam of white light that transformed into his winged companion. The bat pokemon blinked up at his trainer, his fangs agape.

Proton stared off into space, sighing. _Lance wouldn't try and do anything, would he? I doubt this is some kind of sting operation or stakeout. If he wanted to apprehend me, he would've done it back at my office. _

_Right?_

"We've got a trip to make, Gol'," he said. "Think you can make it to Viridian from here in twenty-five minutes?"

The pokemon thought for a bit before nodding, and Proton climbed onto his back, steadying himself as the pokemon rose into the air. The air grew colder the higher they rose; Proton had to wrap one arm around his chest to keep from shivering.

They flew wordlessly towards the distant lights of Viridian.

* * *

He ordered Golbat to land a few blocks out from the Alistair, glaring anxiously at the streets below as they made landfall into a secluded alley on the edge of town. His outfit for the occasion didn't seem too conspicuous — a plain black jacket bundled over his Executive uniform under his favorite bowler cap. He felt queasy for wearing it, especially if this was some kind of police operation, but he found himself straightening his posture. His uniform helped keep him...composed.

"Thanks," he muttered to his Golbat, recalling him into his pokeball. He emerged from the alley and onto the thin dirt-lined path that led towards the Alistair, letting himself absorb the nighttime Viridian scene. He could see the cafe along the path, dimly lit but booming with business and diners anxious to be seated.

"Shit," he breathed, his footsteps faltering, but not stopping. This had been a bad idea from the start, meeting with _him_ here like this, acting like they were...were what?

Before long, he found himself in the crowd of diners, standing outside the cafe's entrance awkwardly, his shoulders tensing as he sat amongst them.

"Hi!" A waitress half his height greeted him enthusiastically from out of nowhere. "You're here with the Luxforde party, right?"

The mention of Lance's surname drew a few heads, but didn't cause any undue attention to fall onto Proton. He glanced around shiftily before nodding affirmatively.

"Perfect! The other member of your party is already here, if you'd like to follow me to the back."

He swallowed down a numbness that seized his gut. "Great," he croaked, cracking a fake smile.

The two of them pushed past the waiting patrons into the restaurant, and Proton couldn't help but stare at the fine linens draped across each table. During the daytime, the Alistair Cafe was more of a casual lounging area, with outdoor seating and a light snacking menu. At night, the establishment transformed into one of Kanto's premier fine-dining hubs, known for its private dining lounges and calm, nearly muted atmosphere. Proton wasn't much of one for class, but even he admired the dark gold trims adorning each tablecloth and napkin.

The waitress walked Proton past all of the tables and booths, and down a hallway with sectioned-off velvet curtains on either side of a short hallway.

"These are our private dining rooms," she explained as they continued walking. "Your party has one of these rented out for the evening. You'll be in Number...Six? Yes, this one right here!"

They stopped in front of a black curtain, a dim glow of light blooming from the other side. A golden placard emblazoned with the number 6 shone above the doorway.

"Thank you, again," he muttered to the waitress, watching as she skipped away to attend to other diners.

Suppressing his need to gag, he opened the curtain and peered inside the booth.

The amount of space inside surprised him; a thick wooden table with two chairs sat in one corner, with a few armchairs and a loveseat sitting on the other end. A row of unlit candles stood mounted in each of the walls on golden candlesticks; a small chandelier in the center of the ceiling provided a warm flutter of light.

And, of course, the man himself. Proton gulped, taking the sight of him in. His wide cape, even when sitting, seemed to sprawl out across the back of his chair with infinite length. The champion looked up from a large menu, giving Proton a large smile.

"You made it after all!" he beamed. "Don't look so scared — come, sit!"

Proton closed the curtain behind him and walked towards the table, trying to size up Lance's unexpectedly cheerful demeanor. He took a seat, their eyes on each other.

"You're uh, you're not wearing a wire or anything. Right?" Proton lowered the pitch of his voice in some last-ditch effort to shed his anxiety.

Lance shrugged. "No reason to. The League has no active investigations against you or Team Rocket at the moment."

He paused. "I already know you're not wearing one, at any rate. You wouldn't have made it into the building otherwise."

Proton chuckled instinctively, searching Lance's face for the sign of that being a joke, but the dragon trainer's composure remained. His laugh faltered, then died.

"Interesting that you accepted my invitation," Lance said without so much as a beat. He leaned back in his seat, raising an eyebrow. "Honestly, I didn't guess you would want to show up."

"I, uh, yeah. What would you have done if I hadn't shown?"

"This isn't the most unfamiliar of environments to me. I'm sure I would've passed the time with a glass of wine or two." He frowned suddenly. "I ordered a glass of pinot more than a few minutes ago, now that I think about it. I wonder where it could be."

Proton swallowed. "You prefer red wine, then?"

Lance smiled a little bit, welcoming the allowance of normal conversation into the night. "I would say so, yes. White wines are perfectly fine, but red wines have more...depth, I suppose, in their flavor."

Almost on cue, the curtain to their booth shifted open, a new waiter walking through the doorway. "So sorry for the delay, Mr. Luxforde," he said, gently placing a glass of the dark wine on the table.

"That's not a problem, Brandon," he said. "Though I do believe I'm ready to order my meal, if that's alright?"

The waiter froze a little, mouth slightly open, before blinking and whipping out a leather notepad from his back pocket. "Of course! What can we serve you tonight?"

Lance opened up his menu again, frowning slightly. "I think...I think tonight I'll try the thin filet. Could you bring a side of the pepper asparagus, as well?"

Proton went pale; he hadn't even picked his menu up yet, much less decided on food. What could—

"And my friend here would like the aged lamb chops, with a side of baked potato," Lance continued. Picking up both menus, he gave them to the waiter, giving Proton the faintest hint of a side smirk. "Oh, and a glass of wine for him as well."

"The same pinot?" the waiter asked Lance.

"Yes, exactly."

"Thanks," Proton muttered, watching Brandon leave their dining room in a flash.

Lance only smiled again, taking a long, drawn out sip of his wine. "Proton, there's a book of matches on the endtable next to the loveseat. Would you be able to light a few candles for me? The night seems to be lacking some ambience, wouldn't you agree?"

Proton nodded, though he couldn't exactly place the sort of ambience Lance was referring to. He stood and found the book of matches laying on the endtable, alongside a nameless book and some flowers.

"So...you're not angry with me?" He struck the match against the striker strip, the spark igniting a small flame.

Lance smirked again, watching Proton light the candles one by one. "I was...inconvenienced. Maybe a little angry, as I'm sure you understand."

The candles burned dimly, each one increasing the brightness and warmth inside the room. Lance locked eyes with Proton as the executive returned to his seat, the matches still clutched in his hand.

"I can't say I take too kindly to being kidnapped, after all," Lance continued, taking another sip of wine. "Then again, there's something to be said for a successful attempt. Doesn't really happen all too often, you know."

Proton felt his face grow hot. "You finally let me slip through the cracks, did you? I—

"

The champion held up a hand to interrupt him. "If we're to get one thing straight, Proton, it's that today's meeting was not a show of weakness." His glare turned cold, the warmth suddenly leaving the room. "It was your arrogance that got you here."

"Be that as it may, I still succeeded. I got what I wanted."

A tense silence fell between them. Lance leaned back in his chair before cracking the smallest grin. "That's a fair point. I'm of the opinion that having me handcuffed to a chair in your office is a somewhat unconventional manner of asking someone out on a date, but I have to respect your brazenness. So, who was I to say no?"

Proton hesitated, stammering in his thoughts, before matching Lance's smirk. "Does that mean you'll answer my faxes next time?"

The waiter returned, stowing a bottle of pinot and an empty glass under his arm. "I brought the whole bottle for you, Mr. Luxforde, for the two of you to share. I trust that's alright with you?"

Lance smiled again, but with more cheerfulness in his expression, with less...intent. "Yes, of course. Would you pour a glass for my guest?"

The waiter nodded with a smile, setting the empty glass in front of Proton and pouring the rich wine slowly before stopping as it reached about the halfway point. "Is this enough?" He asked, facing Lance.

"Yes, perfect," Lance said, cutting off Proton as his mouth hung open to speak. Brandon set the bottle down between the two of them, leaving wordlessly once again.

"What were your exact words, again, back at your office?" Lance said. "I believe it was that there was something to me that you envy." He frowned, squinting at Proton with interest. "Is that still true, Executive?"

Proton reached for the stem of his glass, bringing it to his lips slowly, methodically. "Yes. I envy something in you. Something that, as I think I said, you wouldn't come to me willingly for."

Lance chuckled lowly, intimately. "I guess you were wrong about that last part, yeah?"

"I don't know if I really call this "willing", though. Would you have come if I hadn't captured you?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. But—" he paused to consider his words — "I feel that that's beside the point." He gestured at Proton with his glass. "Shall we toast?"

Proton welcomed the diversion in conversation, raising his own glass. "To…"

"To envy," Lance finished.

Their glasses clinked together, a sharp chime in the otherwise smooth quiet of the evening. They took sips of their wine uniformly, and for the first time Proton considered the pinot's taste. A bit of dryness, but enough sweetness for his liking. It tasted faintly of black cherry, but with the bitterness of red wine to go with it.

"It's good, yes?" Lance asked.

"Very," Proton said, lowering his glass. "Better than I expected, actually."

Lance chuckled again. "That's a favorite of mine on the menu. Seems to strike most people the same way."

A pause. The two of them seemed to weigh each other's presence, what it would mean if people were to find out that Lance, the Indigo Champion and G-Men leader, was privately dining with the notorious Rocket Executive behind the Slowpoke Well incident, not to mention one of the key figures in the Goldenrod takeover.

"May I be honest with you, Proton?"

Proton raised his eyebrows. "It'd be criminal if we were anything but honest with each other."

Lance blinked. "I don't find much about myself enviable. I mean, sure, people might want to be as rich as me, or as notable, or whatever. That's all enviable. But...but that's superficial. Anyone can envy money, or fame. I mean, you didn't kidnap me and try to court me for my money, right?" Lance paused. "What _do _you envy about me, Proton?"

The executive pursed his lips, swirling his glass in his hand, watching the liquid stir idly.

"Lance, you are...elusive. I mean, what do people really know about you? They know Champion Lance Luxforde of the Indigo League, but they don't know who Lance Luxforde is when he's not in front of a camera or doing whatever diplomatic things he does. _I _don't know any of those things. And I think that's really what I'm after, is to figure out who _you _are. If public-facing, hero-to-the-masses Lance can win me over, then...then everything else about you could too. Right?"

Lance nodded along as he spoke, absorbing each word.

"And that's the problem." he continued. "I envy the person you are when no one else is looking, but I don't even know what that looks like. Does that make sense? It feels weird, envying something that I haven't even seen, but…"

"No, I understand," Lance said calmly. "And I appreciate your candor. If I'm hearing you right, you just want to know me better. Is that it?"

Proton nodded strongly, swallowing any meekness there was left. "No one knows you like how I want to know you. I have to be honest and say that there's something alluring about being one of the only people to...to know you like that."

He found suddenly that his chair was pushed as closely into the table as it could be, the edge of the table's surface digging into his stomach. His hands gripped his own thighs painfully, unaware of just how locked his fingers had become.

Lance took the opportunity to top off their glasses. "This is the perfect environment for that kind of conversation then, yeah?"

"You...you would actually just let me in like that?"

"Proton, all it ever takes is asking. I believe we already covered that earlier today."

Neither spoke. They could do nothing but take each other in, letting the wine-tinted air settle between them. The lighting above them seemed to dim slightly, allowing the burning candles to take over the room.

Lance cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "Proton, have you been to the nature trail just east of Victory Road? The one that kinda juts off at the base of Mt. Silver?"

Proton breathed, unaware that he'd been holding it at all. "I can't say that I have, no."

The dragon master smiled — warmly, sincerely. "If you're okay with it, I'd love to take you there once we've finished eating. It's really a calming place to walk through at night."

"That'd be lovely, actually. I haven't really been out much lately, to tell you the truth."

"Let's change that, then, shall we?"

A terrifying, ghastly sound crashed outside, wood and steel colliding together in sheer disaster. The sudden calamity made Proton fall out of his seat, the wine spilling off of the table and onto his suit.

Lance jumped to his feet, walking past Proton and out of their dining room, flipping the curtain away. Proton struggled to find his footing as the quaking outside seemed to only strengthen. Smoke began to fill the air.

"Proton!" Lance bellowed from just outside the doorway. The executive stumbled out of the room, finding Lance standing in the hallway.

The front entryway to the restaurant no longer existed. A scrap heap of wood and velvet and ash lay in its place, licks of fire brimming from underneath. Restaurateurs and waiters scrambled and stumbled away from the wreckage, some bleeding, some screaming for help, some simply running.

From outside the building's threshold, a score of headlights flashed at them. A single figure stepped in front of the lights, her silhouette indistinguishable save for the flaps of her white dress, the updo of her red hair.

"Ariana!" Proton shouted, clutching a pokeball in his hand.

"You set me up for this?" Lance shouted at Proton, his teeth bared.

"This wasn't me!" he shouted back. "She's gotta be here for both of us!"

From the lights, a shrill laugh pierced over the sounds of crackling flames and collapsing wood. "You thought you could try and get on Lance's side without me knowing?" Ariana shouted. "That makes you nothing but a traitor to Team Rocket!"

Behind her, the revving of engines roared, and a few guns could be heard being cocked and loaded.

"How...how'd she know where to find us?" Proton breathed, low enough to where only Lance could barely hear.

Lance's cape flapped in the fiery wind, shielding Proton from the Rocket onslaught. "Proton, I don't think she'll stop until we're both either captured or dead. If you can use your pokemon to flank her from the side, I can go directly for—"

Proton shook his head, calling his Weezing out from his pokeball. "No, we need to create a distraction and get the hell out of here. That's our only chance!"

"I'm telling you, if we can—"

"Lance!" Proton shouted him down, silencing him. "You don't know Ariana like I do. She won't let up. Even teaming up against all of _that_, that's nothing but a lost cause."

He tapped on Weezing's head to get his attention, gesturing towards the army outside. "Lance, release your Dragonite. He can fly us out of here way faster than Golbat can. As long as you can get us somewhere that she can't find us."

The champion sighed, watching the advancing force in vain. "Fine. You win, Executive."

"Weezing, use SmokeScreen!"

A fantastic cloud of smoke pillowed all around them. They could hear Ariana coughing under the cover, the lights from the trucks now nearly hidden.

Dragonite emerged from Lance's pokeball with little triumph; the dragon pokemon hulked above the two, towering stoically.

"Get us out of here, buddy!" Lance shouted, climbing on top of his pokemon. The flames inched closer, poking through even the strongest folds of the smoke screen, tickling Proton's boots.

"Weezing, return!" Proton summoned the poison pokemon back, following Lance and seating himself on Dragonite's back, clutching onto the champion's shoulders for support.

And then they were in the air, ten and twenty and thirty feet high, their speed unmatched by anything Proton had ever experienced. He'd have fallen off had it not been for Lance, who had one hand wrapped around Dragonite's upper body, the other clasped onto Proton's hand, sandwiching it under his shoulder, gripping firmly if only to keep him on board.

They could hear Ariana's shrieking from the ground, a trail of bullets soon following them. But the projectiles had no hope of downing the escapees; Dragonite carried them far and away. To where, Proton wasn't sure, but with Lance came the promise of safety.

And despite the Rocket attack, despite nearly being killed by his own Rocket colleague, Proton never felt safer.

* * *

A/N: Special thanks to Mimanymous for beta reading this for me!


End file.
